House Rules.

301. It's my apartment number, here at school.  It's also my home, in so many senses of the word.  It's where some of the people I love best in the world are.  It's where I put on sweat pants and a tank top and put my feet on the furniture.  It's where the music is always playing - Thing 1 (as I call one of my roommates) plays the ukelele and the guitar and is rarely found without one of them, Rose (the only other girl in the apartment) likes to teach herself songs on the piano by ear when she's bored or anxious, Thing 2 dabbles in everything and takes voice lessons, I am learning the ukelele and sing at least a hundred times a day and each of us goes through life with our respective iPods turned all the way up.  Here in 301 we have some rules.  They're listed below, and I think they give a pretty accurate summary of why I am in love with my apartment, my roommates, and the life we've built together.  So here they are, in no particular order.

301 House Rules

- We don't do goodbyes, only see ya laters 

- Pinky promises are law

- If it's not yours, don't eat it.

- Be brilliant.

- Courage

- We are the people who don't look away. 

- If it stays in the living room or kitchen for more than a few hours, it gets put on your bed to be put away.

- Friends are always welcome: on the couch, at the table, around the keyboard. 

- Adventures are mandatory.

-No one in the family is ever uncomfortable in their own space.  We stick together.

-Everyone does dishes.  The boys carry out the giant trash barrel since it was their idea.  Bottles and cans get recycled.  The apartment should never smell bad.  It's ok to suggest rearranging if you need a change or the vibe is funny.

-Sometimes you've just gotta flip shit over.  That's cool, just flip it back.  No hurry bro.

-Talk to each other.  Lack of communication kills relationships and families.

-Things that are always allowed on TV: Doctor Who, anything Shakespeare, anything involving ghosts, anything involving space, anything Hugh Jackman has ever done, Star Wars.

-The brita filter is never put back in the fridge empty.

-Don't put on the kettle without offering some to everyone.  Tea (and for the boys coffee as well) is a lifestyle and form of currency.

-Nutella is always welcome.

-Popcorn is made to be shared.

-Phones aren't part of family dinner.

-Naptime is to be respected, exercise is essential and the music corner is sacred.

-Every single day, sing, laugh, fight, dance, and dare.  Every. Single. Day.

*Welcome Home. *

Freshman Fears, Senior Year.

Today is July 1st.  Not a date I expected to have mixed feelings about but, well, there you have it. My summer is, basically, halfway through.  I know many families with kids still in elementary and even high school are just beginning their summers, but for me I was done back in May and return at the beginning of September.  So the first of July marks the halfway point.

Part of me is very pleased with that thought - woo hoo!  Almost time to go back to school, to awesome roommates and a beautiful apartment and a super productive, overwhelmingly busy schedule.  Almost time for dance and dance studios and stages everywhere you look.   Almost time for regular voice lessons and half way to the Sunday I can sit in what has become "my" church after three years of attendance.

But part of me is sad, too.  Sad because I know the place I'm so excited to return to - the place I love so well - is just not going to be the same place any more. My new roommates are good friends, talented people, loyal, clever, beautiful, wonderful.  But they aren't Roomie.  And the apartment won't be the one we shared.  The thoughts I have of my school almost always include Marissa Jenna Sam Meg and Julia and my boys - my crazy, wild, silly, sweet boys who are actually older than me and graduated and won't be there any more for watching the game or The Scottish Play or convincing me tonight is as good a night as any to put down the homework and let my hair down.

And then there is the work itself. So much of it.  Just so, so much of it.  Including my voice lesson, I am taking 23 credits this semester alone.  Twenty-three credits. That's an entire year's worth of classes all jammed into a semester. . . plus my Independent Study.  And Senior Performance.  Those are at least two performances I'm guaranteed to be involved in, never mind Cabaret, Oklahoma!, and any of the other club-sponsored shows.  Or any clubs - Sisterhood, Vocal Conviction. . . plus my mandatory auditions as a Senior for dance companies.  And the "mock" auditions with professionals from a NYC Agency, who actually hire people every year (!!!).  And where in there will I find the time to *work*?  And if I don't work, how will I eat?  Or pay my cell phone bill, or for internet, or dancewear (which I haven't replaced/updated/bought since the summer before freshman year).

In a weird way, it feels again like the summer before Freshman year.  Though I do in fact know and love (really and truly and very much) people at school, without my seniors around me it feels almost as though I'll be around strangers again.  Will I be ok?  Will I have enough time to work?  Will I have enough food? Will the classes be too much for me?  How will I keep my grades up?  I'm scared.

I'm scared.

I'm scared.

There.  I said it. I admitted it. Something I've barely even allowed to whisper in the back of my mind but has wiggled in my belly anyway.  See, I'm almost never scared.  I'm *ready* or I'm *excited* or *prepared* or always *confident.*  I smile and say "I think I can handle it, no worries," and set off with a laugh for the impossible.  For the adventure.  And really, that part of me is more than there still - ready, excited, sure.  But part of me is a little frightened.  Daunted by how big the obstacles appear.  Nervous about whats on the other side.  Sad to have lost my favorite hands to hold along the way - even if only for a little while.

And so, my summer is halfway done.  I have another two months to work as hard as I can and save money to survive on, to prepare and organize my life.  To take a deep breath, put the smile on and say "I think I can handle it," to the impossible.

Here's to the adventure.  Let's set off laughing, shall we?

They Came, They Saw, They Kicked Ass.

Last weekend was one of the most Happy-Sad Days of my life.  Happy-Sad Days are exactly what the name implies: days of bittersweetness, where you are laughing with genuine pleasure while tears tug at the corners of your eyes.  Saturday was a perfect example: Graduation Day for the Class of 2012.  It was such an amazing, special graduating class and ceremony.  For one thing, I am proud to announce the first ever students to graduate with a BA in Theatre from our college crossed the stage and collected their diplomas. Without that moment, my own graduation as a Double Major would never be possible.  Additionally, the BA Theatre Class '12 has in its ranks some of my dearest, most beloved friends and the most talented assortment of people you can imagine.  I utterly adore them. 

Then there were the dancers. . . my dancers.  More than any other class (including, in fact, the one I came in with) this group of exceptional, talented people took me in and made me feel at home.  Taught me about love, family, loyalty, courage, self-expression, worth, work, and creativity.  My world is so much better for having them in it and I am genuinely a bit nervous to imagine it without their daily presence.  Below are some pictures of the festivities!

Julia, BA Dance '12 & Colin BA Theatre '12

(aren't they a ridiculously pretty couple?)  

I call this one "Family: You're Doing It Right."

My fierce roommate, all decked out in her honors gear and the fabulous Jenna

(Both BA Dance '12)

 Roommate's glee and awkward arm motions in anticipation of graduating.  Also, note our bare walls and empty looking apartment.  I am just so sad.

The boys.  My boys.  Let me tell you, they are more trouble than you can shake a stick at, more fun than is legal, have less sense than your common household goldfish and better hearts than half the Saints in heaven.  I love them to pieces.

{ I didn't take this picture: it belongs to my friend Em, you can find her here}

Woohoo! We did it! First graduating class! Bye-bye college!

Things That Make Me Feel Better (Even When The-World-Is-Ending-BooHoo-Poor-Me)

Sometimes things get messy.  They go wrong.  Sometimes it is when everything is moving along smoothly, your life is humming at an almost industrial pace and the sun is warm and the future is roses.  Sometimes - most times - it is when things are all ready pretty bad.

Too much to do.  No time.  So many needs.  No money.  Every ounce of me parceled out, weighed and measured and carefully divided, poured lovingly and hectically into the various people/places/things/goals that cry out for my attention.

That, for me, is almost always when the storm comes rolling in.  The last crack of lightning to an already fragile structure that stands no chance and simply bursts into flame.  In case you were wondering which you clearly weren't because I am so dramatic  last night was a lightning-strike kind of moment.  Why it was and the details don't matter.

Because less face it. . .  when shit hits the fan, it hits the fan.  The clean up is what matters.  I am still in the defecation-spreading-all-over-the-walls-in-blatant-disregard-of-my-orderly-life phase. . . but even still I realized as I sat here, stomach in more knots than a badly done cat's cradle, I have comfort.

In a Boyfriend who stops his entire world every time my silly fragile world comes unraveled.

A friend who knows from a three word text that something is wrong.  And quietly shows up in my kitchen, arms open to catch my crazy in a bear hug so tight I couldn't squirm away, forcing me to actually let go and . . . cry.

Comfort in jamming my headphones in to study the rest of the night away (no sleep was forseen) and being unable to ignore the ding of Facebook as another friend firmly instigated a totally asinine conversation.  I don't think I was supposed to know I was being checked up on, so. . . sshhhhh, ok?

A roomie who looked me in the eye and informed me of how strong and brave I am in her eyes, and demanded that I try seeing myself that way for a few seconds. I'm trying.

Opening my mailbox, where I have been collecting soft white envelope after soft white envelope, some traced with silver, others tied with dark ribbon, each containing a message of condolence for yet another friend who has lost a parent.  Everyday for two weeks I have gone down and placed my key in the lock, listening to the cool metal click open and expose the sadness neatly packaged in the gaping maw of a metal mouth my mailbox becomes.  Everyday I place my hand inside and offer a silent prayer thanking God for such a supportive community. I place donations in a small envelope and stack the sympathy on the edge of my counter, trying not to let my fingers linger on someone else's sorrow.  Today when I opened the mailbox, a bright yellow envelope greeted me, with cheerful, looping hand writing.  A note from a friend, who thought my mailbox (and heart) might need some cheer.

I find peace in the gently prying questions of my pseudo brother, who is maybe the only person alive who has found the right tone between soothing, insistent, and compassionate that will instantly make me open up.  Sometimes a lot of crazy comes out when I do.

There is the friend who saw me walking and knew from the set of my shoulders that my smile was lying.  There is such a strength in being transparent - the strength of being an Us and not an I.

Finding myself, instead of running my scene from A Midsummer Night's Dream, being squeezed in the papa-bear hug of one of my favorite faculty.  60 seconds - no more, no less - of being hugged and being me and breathing, were required before I was allowed to say a single line.

Joy in the sly smile shared when the last ballet class of the semester holds a mini-rebellion in ballet and the accompanist is a willing cohort!

A sense of hope when I round the corner from work and see beautiful lilacs (my favorite flowers) blooming in the rain, their perfume all the sweeter in the cool damp air.

The pure exhilaration only dancers and athletes know when your body suddenly obeys you.  We're talking a triple pirouette here people!  To the left.  In jeans!


Perhaps most excitingly, my big source of comfort is finding out I have a Cassie Care Package on the way!  I wish there was a way to convey to you the excitement this encompasses for me.  Imagine a a beautiful and female Mad Hatter.  Now imagine her as a former competitive diver.  Now set this imagining loose in SoHo.  This is who is creating my care package.

And that, ladies and gents, is a beautiful thing.

Joy and Sorrow Part II

Have you ever had just an amazing day? One where you feel like nothing can go wrong, and nothing can hurt you? How about the opposite? A day when only bad news and sadness seem to follow you, whispering in your ear and coloring your sight. The past weeks have been filled with days like these. Days where it seemed the world stood still for a moment - frozen in sadness, or suspended in joy.

Joy

..................

There has been so much sadness in the past few weeks.  Several people I know - several people very dear to me - have suffered losses in the past two weeks.  There have been more condolences, flowers, and black dresses then I ever want to experience in such a short time again. In addition to these losses, there has been a bitter-sweetness in the air as Boys Next Door (our Spring straight play) completed it's run.  This May will have a particularly important graduating class - the first BA Theatre class from my school, and Boys Next Door featured a large part of that class.  When closing night came and bows were taken, an entire generation of performers had their last round of applause on a stage that is "home base" for all of us.

Even with all of these things happening around me, I cannot say that these past few weeks have been bad ones.  While each moment of sadness has been big - huge, even - they can't undo the overall warmth and joy I've had.  The happiness comes from a hundred small things through out the day, and I think it is because of the big sadness that I've been tied to I've been able to feel the joy all the more.  The feeling of relief as you open an exam and realize you know the answers to a question.  The homey feeling when an old nickname is used in a new scenario.  Or the peaceful rhythm of completing silly routines and rituals.  For instance, every Saturday is cleaning day for my roommate and I.  We scrub the condo from top to bottom, doing dishes, cleaning the bathroom, clearing off the always-cluttered table.  This Saturday when we finished cleaning, we took a few minutes and made breakfast together: bagels, turkey bacon, hot tea, fried eggs, and an 80s music playlist.

Happiness this week was opening my mailbox to retrieve my stolen-and-then-found-and-sent-home-to-Mum cellphone and finding not only my phone, but a big red box of chocolates waiting.  The best part wasn't the first nougat filled bite, or the satisfying crinkle of cellophane.  It wasn't the candy apple red sheen of the box as it poked cheerfully up out of my heavy bag.  Happiness was opening the white package and seeing something - anything - inside.  The thought.  The extra bit of love.  I think that's maybe the biggest part of happiness: seeing, feeling, sharing, giving, knowing love.  At least, it is for me right now, at this particular moment in this particular life.

. . . . . .

Joy is different things to do different people - or even to the same person at different points in their life.  I'm so lucky to be in a place in my life where joy can take more than one form.  It's a real, tangible thing, being happy.  Something I think every sense can experience - for instance:

*I tasted joy in shared spoonfuls of creamy icy green, as me, Rob, and Karly split a bowl of mint chocolate chip ice cream in the caf.

*I heard joy in a voice lesson that went better than anticipated: another song learned, putting me two songs ahead for the semester.  Hearing notes soaring out of my own throat that I was so afraid of so very recently - feeling their resonance in my chest and their lightness in the air.  

*I smelled happiness all around me as the first truly spring like weather reached out and held the east coast.  The first hint of melting snow and sap stirred trees mixing with that special something only spring time has.

*I saw happiness in a friend's smiling face as I turned a blue dress, a sheet of shiny yellow fabric, a black bubble skirt, and a spool of red ribbon into a snow white costume, complete with train and bows.  She looked so beautiful!

*I felt happiness in my first trip in the car with the windows down - it was only to the grocery store with my friends, but it was long enough for the sun to warm my face and the wind to tug my hair loose from my tight, sleek, winter ponytail.  

Everyone of those things is so small - especially when compared to the weight, size, breadth, and depth of the sadness that has touched our (me and my friends') lives recently.  Isn't that the beautiful thing about the human spirit though?

It takes a hammer to break us but only a single laugh to lift us back up again.  

Wishing you Joy, dear readers.

Yesterday Was My Best Friend's Birthday

 And we're taking it very seriously.

I must confess, the above picture is not from yesterday.  It's from exactly 366 days ago, when she celebrated her last birthday, here in the little slice of wilderness we hail from.  Charming, no?  Basically, that picture is our friendship summed up in a single flash.  This is us, moments later attempting to take a non-silly picture.  She translated "non-silly," as "seductive."  I translated it into "boring."  Thus, we balance each other out.

 

I wish I could properly sum Arletta up for you in a blogpost, but that is impossible to do.  Mostly, because there is no "summing," Arletta up.  She isn't one thing - she's a thousand and one things.  She is the loudest laugh in the room, and generally the funniest joke.  She's a bellydancer and choreographer.  For all my classical training, I don't think I'll ever be able to understand just how to make my body m o v e the way her's does.  

She's a singer: anything the average person says outloud, she sings.  Even if it's a list of things she's got to do that day.

She's a hopeless romantic, which rather nicely brightened my vaguely I-don't-give-a-crap-about-the-male-species attitude through HS.  

Arletta is the kind of girl who chases her dream, chased it all the way to India for a semester abroad.  Which makes perfect sense, since she is after all a tigress. . . 

She is this poem: improbable, beautiful, and afraid of nothing.  

She is my best friend in the world.